Earth Station Charley

Four A.M. Friday, and Charley is in his usual spot, sprawled out on the couch, watching Canadian football on cable television. For a long time now, Charley has looked upon television as his companion and sometime night light, which is why his wife, Sheilah, has taken off with his partner, Sy, that loud and obnoxious man who needs to trim the hair in his ears. Charley had grown to feel more comfortable watching a midget rodeo on cable than sleeping with Sheilah. (Sex is like a bull ride, he'd say: Mount the beast until you're turned loose, then try to stay on for one minute. Time, 58 seconds.)

Now Charley sits here all day, rarely moving, staring at the set. Neighbors think he has passed away, which more or less confirms Sheilah's suspicions. He watches everything over and over again. Happy Days, twice a day; The Love Boat, from Atlanta; The Big Valley, from Chicago; The Movie Channel, Showtime, Z. Cable has changed his life--it has ended it.

Friday afternoon, and a favorite episode of Bonanza is on WGN, from Chicago. Charley heats a can of beef stew. He likes to eat the appropriate food for the show he is watching. For Westerns, it is beef stew or chili. The Fugitive is always "just coffee." Ball games are hot dogs. Pernell Roberts gets off his horse.

Suddenly, the 1969 Philco dies; it sputters and coughs and goes black. Stew dribbles out of Charley's mouth as he runs to the aid of his fallen friend. He cradles it in his arms as though it were a wounded Army buddy from War Theater.

Charley panics. His fingers move unconsciously, changing (continued on page 208) Earth Station (continued from page 122) channels. He belts the set, the age-old remedy, but it is too late. He needs a new set right away. Withdrawal pain sets in.

•

Tom's Video City is staggering: two square blocks of televisions, video recorders, wide screens, computers and all kinds of hard- and software. Charley stands there, dumfounded, as 500 sets zoom in on Gary Collins making a Waldorf salad on Hour Magazine.

"Can I help you?" Charley stares at a rather intense-looking young salesman, the kind of guy who got perfect scores on his SAT and wears a bathing suit with black socks and sandals to the beach. "We have more than seven thousand models of electronic video and audio equipment here, eighty computer models, all the brands of wide screens and our special item, the earth station."

"What's the earth station?"

"A fifteen-foot satellite dish that receives signals from the communications satellites orbiting the earth. It's the most powerful home unit ever made. With this machine, you have the capability of watching television programs from all over the globe with perfect reception. And it has stereo sound."

"All I really need is a nice color television," Charley says.

"Why have just a television when you can have the globe? With the earth station, the world comes to you." The salesman is getting excited.

"It sounds very expensive."

"We can work out a deal to suit you. I installed my own. It's amazing: Last night, I was having dinner and watching Jerry Lewis in The Nutty Professor, all the way from Paris. Following that was A.M. Peru and a Swedish soap opera where they really do it. Truly amazing; the world comes to you."

Charley flips through the diagrams and pages of blueprints. It is complicated but a challenge. He wants--he has--to do it.

•

Three days later, his hands hurting from squeezing pliers, his jaws sore from clenching his teeth, Charley sits back on his heels and gazes at the finished product. He has screwed 527 screws, bolted 890 bolts, fastened miles and miles of cable and wire and inserted dozens of tubes, gadgets, springs and nuts into what looks like a radar station in his back yard. Somehow, it will work; it must work. Charley needs to see The Donna Reed Show from Rio; he needs Barney Miller from Argentina. He needs the world to come to him--he's much too tired to go to it.

The TV dinner is heating, the champagne chilling as Charley makes the last adjustments. In a way, he wishes Sheilah were here to watch with him. She'd lost faith in him. He hadn't accomplished anything. "Lazy," she'd say. "You're too lazy to be boring. Boring would mean you were doing something."

Charley sighs. All the good things in life are taken away too soon--youth, drive and the original Steve Allen Show. His eyes moisten as he pulls back the silver foil on the peas of his Hungry Guy dinner. He stares at the pathetic attempt at peach cobbler. Sheilah hates the cobbler, too. "I'll mail her one." He giggles and starts to feel perky. The last time he felt optimistic was when Cavett went network.

At 7:58, he puts the Hungry Guy dinner on the snack tray, which supports not only this gourmet delight but a single red rose cut from the neglected garden. He turns on the earth station. Waves of anxiety fill his lungs. His thighs pulsate as though he has just been in a near-miss car accident. The picture is slightly dim. A living room with a plastic-covered couch in the background is all he can make out. "Honey, where's my glasses?" He knows that voice. Then a naked man enters the picture. Holy Christ, it is Jerry Berger, his neighbor. "I think I left them on the bar." Berger's wife enters. There she is in stereo on the screen, naked.

Charley is in a panic. What has he done? Yes, he is awake; no, he isn't hallucinating. He is frozen stiff. Mrs. Berger is now doing jumping jacks along with Richard Simmons. Her tits bouncing up and down sound like polite tennis applause.

He carefully adjusts the channel two notches to the left. What the hell is this? Is it the Gorman home? Mr. and Mrs. Gorman are in their 70s now, a sweet, God-fearing couple. She worked in the town pharmacy for years, and he owned a small hobby shop where he displayed his wonderful collection of miniature trains. Now, in retirement, they sit on the porch sipping lemonade and counting the Cadillacs. A Sunday doesn't seem right unless you see the Gormans slowly walking home from church, holding hands.

"Tell me, Demetrius, do you want me?" Mrs. Gorman lies sprawled on her round bed, wearing a chiffon nightie, with what appear to be two Danish pastries over her breasts. "Demetrius? Answer your queen."

Old man Gorman, in a G string, complete with sword in hand, his breasts sagging more than hers, enters. Charley feels faint. "Fair Cressida, I am but a slave. I cannot look on thee."

"You need no longer be a slave," she rasps.

"What do I have to do, my lady?"

"Make love to me like the monkeys do."

With that, old man G. drops the G string. His impressive genitals swing dangerously close to the floor as he mounts his beloved, crying, "Freedom, freedom!" Charley looks like Buckwheat seeing a ghost. American Gothic meets Screw magazine. The Gormans are maniacs.

Charley laughs and turns the channel. There is Mrs. Mulgrew asleep on the couch, a Reagan press conference on her television screen. Two more turns to the left bring the Sealy twins arguing over clothes. The Benders are playing cards. The Hubermans aren't home, but Charley likes their new furniture.

The impossible has happened! He has invented something so amazing, he has to lie down to think of the implications.

•

Two days go by and Charley is still getting the neighborhood. The Benders are not talking to each other, the Hubermans love tuna and Jerry Berger spends more time on the toilet than someone just back from Mexico. Charley charts the times and places of his favorite moments. Working quickly, he compiles a ten-page guide.

The first Earth Station Charley is a fine-looking piece of work: two pieces of red construction paper and ten pages of programing. He plans his day around his neighbors' activities as if they were Olympic events. Why see a Donna Reed rerun at eight A.M. when he can have Breakfast with the Hubermans? Lunch is always at 1:30 with Meet Linda Berger. Honey, I'm Home is 40 minutes of Jerry Bender and his wife not talking face to face. A slight break for snacks, and then it's Love Those Gormans. Tonight is Thursday, which means Mystery Night. Who will he be and who will she be? Charley feels alive again.

•

Weeks go by and Charley is still getting the neighborhood. He decides to walk down the block and say hello to the neighbors. Stu Davis, the dentist, who has terrible teeth, is watering his lawn as Charley approaches. "Hey, Charley, what the hell is that thing, anyway? You an alien or something?" He gestures toward Charley's satellite dish.

"No, it's my earth station receiver for my TV. I can get television from all over the neighb----the world."

"Wow. I'd love to see that sometime; sounds great."

"Oh, it is, it's really something; you should see some of the shows I can get." Oops. As soon as Charley says it, he knows he shouldn't. After all, he has watched the Davises make love in the kitchen.

"Great, I'd love to; I'll be over later."

"Maybe tomorrow, Stu; today's kind of bad; one of the satellites is out of commission." Charley beats a hasty retreat. What am I, he thinks, but an electronic Peeping Tom?

•

Back home, Charley thumbs through the real Earth Station Guide, looking for a foreign program to watch. Hong Kong Hillbillies: A Szechwan family inherits a great war lord's palace. No, not interested. The Pope and the Chimp: A fun time ensues when the Pope and the chimp masquerade as house painters (R). Suddenly, he stops thumbing. Live from Spain: The Running of the Bulls of Pamplona. This is it. Charley has wanted to go to Spain for years. It is his dream to stroll the mighty plains, battle windmills and follow Don Quixote's steps. Sheilah would never go. "Too humid," she'd say, or "Let's go to a fat farm and lose some weight instead." To hell with Sheilah. He whistles Bolero as he pops a Hungry Guy paella into the oven.

He carefully adjusts the dial to receive the signal and flips the set on. The suddenness of the picture surprises him. There it is--instantly--Pamplona. The color is perfect; the music bursts through the speakers. He is in Spain; the crowds yell, taunting the bulls, as the camera moves down the streets. His heart pounds; tears fill his eyes as he feels the excitement. The announcer moves through the crowds. The leathery tanned skin of the people is magnificent; the children squeal with fear and laughter. Oh, the wonder of it all.

Charley digs into his paella but freezes at the sound of a familiar voice.

"It's very exciting to be here, a real dream come true."

Sheilah!

"I always wanted to come here, but I never had someone to come with me."

Sy!

There they are, filling up the wide screen. Sheilah, her straw hat with a miniature donkey fastened to it, her shopping bag with oversized salad utensils in it. She looks strange, with white gook all over her nose, her lipstick applied too thickly. Her eye make-up makes her look like a Fellini extra or Ann Miller in the morning. Next to her, with his arm around her, stands Sy, his partner, wearing a polyester shirt, small tufts of hair sticking out of his ears.

"I've never been so excited in my life," Sheilah says in stereo.

Charley gags on the rice. This can't be. Fires are burning in his head; his lungs are exploding, his eyes bulging. No!

"I always thought Spain would be more humid."

That does it. The announcer laughs, Sheilah and Sy laugh and embrace. Charley lurches around the room, gasping for air. He grabs the control knobs, but Sheilah is on every channel. Where are the Hubermans? Give me the Gormans!

The bulls are running down the streets now, kicking and bucking at anything in their way. People, taking their chances, run out of every doorway. Charley clutches his heart and hits the floor. He lies there staring straight ahead, like Janet Leigh in Psycho--from Atlanta.

Charley has been canceled. The world has come to him.

"All the good things in life are gone too soon----youth, drive and the original 'Steve Allen Show.' "